That Point
by Art4Life1
Summary: Everyone has a breaking point - a time in their life when they feel they can't go on. This is Alfred's. Can the nations come together to help one of their own?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I've been sitting on this story since 2015 or 2016. I was going to wait until I finished Black Nightmares to post it, but considering I won't be able to finish that until the semester ends, I wanted to start posting this here now. **

**This story has partially been a way for me to cope with my own depression. The story is by no means finished, but I do have a couple chapters and a small plan set up.**

**Warning: This story will contain themes about depression, suicide, and suicidal ideation. Please stay safe and read with caution.**

* * *

"_Everyone has their breaking point… and I've reached mine."_

The room is booming. It feels like thunder, or an earthquake, but… he knows that it's worse. Because those harsh claps of thunder- the violent tremors of the earthquake- are _voices. _

They're all yelling, and screaming, and drowning each other out… He isn't sure how long they've been going at it anymore, isn't sure how it began, isn't even sure what they were fighting over in the first place… because they're drowning _him, _too.

Their words are nonexistent- they've all blurred together. The noise, however… _that_ he feels. It's tangible, and he wishes with all he has that it would stop. He wishes he could _make_ it stop.

But he can't.

The others have tried, he's sure. Attempted. But now they're all just waiting for it to die down. Waiting, waiting…

He can never do anything. And he's tired of waiting.

He's so tired…

The world is blurring now. It has been for a while, he thinks- slowly, yet all at once; the words melding together into noise piece by piece; the emotions that were left-the rage, the frustration- nearly mirroring his own… Nearly.

But it's hard to mirror echoes.

Everything is just so _loud. _And they won't stop, ever. It will _never_ stop. The noise is endless and, for some reason, he finds that he can't listen to it anymore.

He can't take it anymore.

He isn't sure when it happened, isn't sure of when that little thing inside of him snapped, but he's standing.

He's not sure of anything now other than how much he wants it to end.

There is one more sound- just one- and it comes from him. It's excruciating as he listens, as his hands slam into the table; as he hears the boom- the crack of thunder that silences the rest. It's excruciating to _feel._

It hurts just as much as being numb.

The wood splinters underneath his hands, but he hardly feels it. He looks out at them because they're staring- all of them. The room is utterly silent.

He realizes he's said something.

And he knows what it was. He knows it was louder than all of them. He could feel how it echoed through the room, how it trembled as his hands are now. And he knows that unlike all of their stupid, petty, heated words… he had meant them.

They stare, and stare, and he realizes that the silence isn't much better.

"Al..?"

The brief, merciful break comes from his right. He can hear the worry in his brother's voice, the concern that is unlike anyone else's in the room. But he can also hear that bit of confusion, and it kills him just a little more inside.

No one knows… No one _knew_.

They don't know what's happening, and neither does he.

He can't look at his brother, at any of them… but, somehow, he does. He meets their now concerned gazes, and he knows that more than just his hands are shaking. His eyes are stinging violently, but he just doesn't care enough anymore to hide what is coming.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than before. "I get it, okay..?" The fight is gone now. He's done. He's finished. "You won."

There is no answer to his words… not right away. He vaguely wonders how he looks to them. A madman? Someone begging for release..? He doesn't know. He looks away, and finds the table.

The _broken _table.

As he stares blankly at the pieces, there's a sound. A spluttering. He thinks that it's Ivan, but he isn't sure. He doesn't know.

Then, again, there are words. The voice that guides them is familiar, and it holds a tone from long ago… even when it can't finish. "Lad, what-"

He doesn't let it finish.

He clenches his fists, and grits his teeth. He repeats- he _pleads-_ once more,

"Just shoot me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: This story will contain themes of depression, suicide, and suicidal ideation. Please stay safe and read with caution.**

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"_Don't be fooled…"_

Alfred is hardly aware of what happens next…

The silence is still there; still deafening. He's still drowning, faster and more violently than he ever has before. His ears begin to ring, and he can't feel the shaking anymore. He can hardly hear the words next to him; can hardly recognize them.

It's Matthew again.

In the back of his mind he isn't surprised that his brother is the first to break from his stupor; the first to take action. Somewhere, he's grateful.

…But he just wants to die.

He knows that his brother can hear that; can see it. It makes him want to weep in the truest definition of the word when he knows that he hasn't before.

But somehow that doesn't matter. All that matters is here; now. It matters because Matt is prying his fingers from the wood, as gentle as Alfred had always known his brother to be. It matters because Matthew smiles, and there is the most sincere apology to ever grace the Earth inside it.

It matters because, in that moment- drowning or no- Alfred forgives him.

It feels like his legs are going to collapse, like he's going to run away… but Matthew picks a happy medium.

He grabs his hand and leads him out of the room. He whispers things- comforting things- because he knows that he can't handle the quiet. He sends looks that Alfred can barely identify to the nations that had fled to the hall earlier, and- if he felt like he could breathe- he might have smiled.

But he can't breathe. Not well, anyway.

His throat is dry, and it feels like it's closing up. He can barely steer himself where his brother wants him to go because it's so hard to see and to move and to do anything. But Matt tells him it's okay- it's going to be okay- and even though he doesn't believe it he _has _to hear it.

It's the only thing he_ can_ hear besides the incessant thoughts in his mind and his own trembling breaths. It's the only thing that gets past everything; that keeps him from shattering right then and there.

Then his brother leads him into a room, and its dark, and he can't see… but he doesn't need to. Because as soon as the door shuts, he can't walk anymore. He can't stand. He can't speak.

He thought he was done with crying, but right now… that is the only thing he _can_ do.

And then… that's when things get blurry.

He remembers an embrace, and sobbing, and warmth, but… that's about it. Then there's blackness-sleep- and he has never been more grateful for it in his life. It takes over everything. It takes _away_ everything.

And he never wants to leave.

.

.

.

Then… then he wakes up.

For a moment, things are fine. He still feels tired, but… it's lighter than what he's used to. It's more of the sleepy kind of tired, when you want to shut your eyes again and go back to oblivion, but… when you want to stay awake and feel that content.

Then, slowly, he looks around, because he doesn't recognize where he is. There are ghosts of chairs neatly against the table, and the room is dark, and there's a projector in the back-

And then it clicks. He remembers what he did, what he said… what the other nations must think. And he sits up. Anxiety has its grip on him. Panic is trying to follow, and he feels the need to run again. The need to escape. But… he doesn't.

He doesn't because when he looks around, when he tries to find the door, he spots Matthew. He's out in the hall. Francis is talking with him. Or… maybe _to_ him. The words don't reach him, but… something else does.

Matthew is crying.

He doesn't remember all of what happened. The blackness has yet to fully leave his mind. But… even though it hasn't… he still feels guilt. He feels like the worst person alive because he knows his twin is crying because of him. And he hates to see him cry. He loathes it.

Alfred feels like he _should_ run, because no one should have to see him. No one _deserves_ to put up with him. Not now. Not ever again.

They hate him, he can feel it.

He wants to go home and get his gun. He wants to use it.

Something is burning in the back of his mind, but he doesn't listen. If he listens, it will drive him insane. He's about to get up and somehow push past his brother and everyone else who he knows is on guard, but-_ damn it-_ something else gets in the way.

It's a hug.

He blinks, and his heart practically quits beating. For a moment, he thinks that it's Matthew again, but the frame is different; shorter. It has a different feel to it. Not bad, but…

It's Arthur.

He wants to push the man away, to get the hell out of there, but… he can't. The brit's arms hold him tight, though they don't necessarily feel like a cage, and before he can start to figure something out a whisper slips into the silence. The words fill his ears and he's so shocked by them that he can't move.

"It will be okay, love."

Alfred nearly stops breathing now, too. Hell, Arthur may just kill him before he can do it himself. …But there's confusion now, so much confusion. Arthur hates him, he's sure of it, so… why would he…

He hasn't called him that in years… Not since…

The man rubs his back, a gesture he remembers from his youth; on stormy nights or after terrible dreams. The embrace suddenly becomes familiar, almost painfully so.

He can barely process the beginning of the assurance because he's so focused on the end.

He wants to say something, but his mouth won't move. He wants to get up, but it feels as if his body is frozen in time. And, suddenly, his emotions betray him. He's a child again and he's trapped in the nightmare world of his mind, afraid more than anything else that his guardian will let go.

He finds himself listening for those words again; reaching for them… and he isn't disappointed. He isn't ensnared in an endless silence, or lost drowning in a sea of noise. The whisper comes again, the words pulling him back,

"It will be okay."

He still wants to run, he still wants to die, and part of him hates Arthur for keeping him here. He hates them all for it. Or… most of him does. The rest… the rest is still that child. And it _needs_ this. It _craves_ it. And he just can't make himself let go.

He doesn't understand why they're helping. He doesn't understand it at all. But… for the moment, he accepts it.

He'll have time for the rest later, but for now… for now he lets that child be, and he listens for Matthew to join him again.

"…_the happiest face may be masking the most hurting heart."_


End file.
